Patience
by Kaiser Bonaparte
Summary: After his death, Beleg Cuthalion finds himself in the Halls of Mandos. When the Vala declines his request to be reincarnated, Beleg soon learns why. Caution: Very fluffy and may cause feels. (Short, non-canon drab


The sounds of his friend screaming echoed in Beleg Cùthalion's ears, even as the stormy forest dissolved into pillared hallways.

He looked around and saw a very tall figure clad in black robes standing nearby. Silver trimmed the edges of the inky garb, and white pearls hung like garland across the figure's slender body. A broad silver collar was draped across a pair of narrow shoulders and a deep hood shadowed a long, pale face.

"Welcome to my halls," the figure's thin lips moved out of sync with the words, and a pair of eyes as white as the pearls adorning its robe stared right through the elf standing in front of him

"Mandos," Beleg murmured. He chastely bowed before the Vala, his hand over his heart. "Mandos, please, I must be sent back to Arda,"

"Why is that?" Mandos tilted his head slightly, making the pearls bound around his head click together.

"I cannot abandon Tùrin son of Hùrin," Beleg said.

"Even if he was the one that killed you?" Mandos added. The elf looked up, grey eyes welling with tears.

"He didn't know that it was I who came to him! Anglachel slipped in my hand, and Tùrin thought I was an orc come to slay him!" Beleg cried. "I must return to him before some ill fate befalls him."

"I'm afraid that you are much too late to protect him from the will of Morgoth, Firstborn." Mandos told him regretfully. "A doom lies on Tùrin Turambar, one that—in the end—will take his life regardless of your presence."

Beleg's eyes went wide at the thought.

"Nonetheless, I ask to be returned to Middle-earth. Tùrin _needs_ me at his side." he begged.

"And deny you the gift that is waiting in my realm?" Mandos knelt and clasped the elf's shoulder with a long white hand. "You will be reunited with your friend in time. For now, come with me."

Beleg rose beside the Vala and wiped his own tears on his sleeve. The cool marble floor was pleasantly smooth against his bare feet—having left his boots behind with his mortal body. His weapons and armor had not accompanied him either, and his tunic had been replaced by a loose white shirt. His silver hair was unbound, and kept falling into his face.

Mandos led him down the silent corridor and past several doors that had no markings or decorations on them save for a hand engraved on the wood.

"Behind those doors are the libraries where the Records of Ilùvatar are kept," the Doomsman of the Valar explained, answering Beleg's unspoken question. Mandos fell silent after that, for they had passed through an ivory archway and into a spacious garden.

Elves and men alike wandered around the turf, sitting on the edges of white marble fountains and under proud silver trees or walking and conversing with one another without a trace of disdain or arrogance. The area was lit with bright golden lamps hanging from the branches of the trees. Flowers of every variety bloomed in the young grass, fat bumblebees drifting from head to head. Brilliant stars wheeled in the heavens, bathing the garden in a softer version of sunlight.

"Beleg! Beleg Cùthalion!" a voice cried. Beleg looked and beheld two elves running towards him. One was as fair as the wild roses that grew in the thickets of Doriath, with soft red hair and brilliant green eyes. The second was green-eyed as well, but his hair was like silver embroidery thread.

Only when they had drawn near to him did he realize who they were.

"Aranel!" he gasped as he caught his love in his arms. She was no longer thin or diminished as she had been in life, but as strong and healthy as she should have been from the beginning.

He held her at a distance, gazing at the face he had longed to see for nigh a thousand years. The rosy sheen of her cheeks had returned along with the light of her eyes and the delicate pink of her lips—lips that he kissed the moment he laid eyes on them.

Aranel withdrew from him after a moment, cupping his face in her soft hands and smiling.

"You're rather late, my darling," she scolded tenderly, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Forgive me," Beleg apologized. "But I was otherwise…occupied."

"Mandos has told us many tales of your bravery in Middle-earth," Aranel beamed, putting her arms around his neck. "And of Tùrin Turambar, who you look upon like a son to replace the one we lost. Your love for the human has grown so great that I fear there is no room left in your heart for our own child." Aranel teased. An odd tone crept into her voice, one of amusement and anticipation. She looked at the elf standing beside her and smiled.

"Beredan Maidhfinden was the name mother gave to me when she came under Lord Mandos' care," the young elf said in a soft, melodious voice. "Beredan, son of Beleg."

Beleg drew away from his wife and gazed at his son. They were similar in stature, though Beredan was somewhat thinner, and possessed softer features. Beleg felt new tears forming in his eyes as he embraced his child tightly.

"Last I saw you, you were no longer than my forearm," he whispered, recalling the infant that Aranel had died to bring into the world. Unfortunately, both the child and his mother had been too weak to survive for long. Memories of the few precious hours he'd spent with his son in life came rushing back to him—thoughts long since suppressed by grief. Beleg recalled cradling the infant to his chest, gently stroking the babe's thin hair and kissing his soft head. The child did not cry, for he was too weak, but seemed as if he were sleeping.

And now, after centuries of suffering, Beleg was reunited with the one thing that he lost:

His family.

The voice of Mandos caught Beleg's attention.

"Do you still wish to return?" he asked. The elf looked up solemnly.

"Will Tùrin be brought here to rest?" Beleg asked, turning to face the Vala. "Will he join us when his time comes?"

Mandos gave a soft smile.

"Yes, my friend. But for now, have patience."


End file.
